


We Have to Talk About William

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-Episode: s09e20 The Truth (Part 2)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Scully post-The Truth and the title pretty much says the rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Have to Talk About William

“You need to stop,” Scully said, quietly. “We need to stop.”

 

“The next stop is Roswell,” Mulder answered.

 

“Of course it is.”

 

“You want me to stop?”

 

As an answer, she reached across the console and put her hand on the back of his head. He pulled off the road and followed the signs to a dilapidated motel off the highway. As soon as he cut the engine, she was out of the car, stretching her back as she waited for him at the side of the SUV. He was slow to follow, nervous about stopping, but knew she was right. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept.

 

On an impulse, he took her hand. “It smells like rain,” he said.

 

“Let’s check in before we get caught in it.”

 

The night manager was happy to accept cash for a room. Mulder barely looked at him, focusing instead on the scratch of the pen as Scully leaned her cheek against his arm and signed the register as Mr. and Mrs. George Hale. Regrettably, he had to let go of her hand to reach for his wallet. Money was exchanged for a key. An annoying strap of jingle bells banged against the door as they left.

 

“Room 12,” Mulder said, sliding the key ring off his finger and onto hers. “I’ll pull the car around.”

 

She held her hand out, palm up, letting the key dangle. “Here comes your rain.”

 

“I’ll hurry.” He flicked the plastic keychain and she closed her hand.

 

Back in the car, his heart sped up as he watched her walk the length of the rooms to number 12. He could leave. He should leave. He should drive away right now while she still had a chance for redemption. She would never forgive him and he could never survive without her. Being with her now was the only thing that made things bearable.

 

He caught her in the headlights just as she reached the door to the room. She stared at him through the windshield like she could read his mind. He shut off the engine and got the black duffel bag she packed out of the back. She took it off his shoulder as he pushed through the door and dropped it on the bed.

 

“I need a shower,” she said, fingering the strap of the duffel bag. “You’ll be here when I get out?”

 

He lowered his head and scuffed the carpet with his toe. She pulled out a pair of jeans and t-shirt for him and left them on the bed before she made her way to the bathroom. He changed and then sat down on the floor listening as the sound of the shower behind him blended with an increasing downpour outside. She wasn’t long in the bathroom, probably just wanted the desert grime off her skin. She crawled across the bed wearing a white robe and he tipped his head back so he could see her in the corner of his eye.

 

Nine years ago, like yesterday, like a lifetime ago, they sat in a motel room just like this. It was impossible then to know just how much would happen in those nine years or how much that woman across from him would come to mean to him. He’d thought she was too green for the job, but they were both so naïve and he couldn’t remember what it was like not to love her.

 

She finally ended the silence by asking what he was thinking. So much was in his head that it was hard to know where to start. She let him ramble, as usual, and then called him out on his prevarications and refused to let him feel sorry for himself, as usual. Her smile could have been enough of an invitation to join her, but the kiss she placed on his thumb was irresistible. He crawled onto the bed and into her arms, relaxing for the first time in months.

 

His eyes fluttered shut as she caressed his cheek with her nose. He pulled her a little bit closer with his leg draped over her hip. He sighed as he felt her hand move from his arm to his nape, her nails gliding gently through his hair. He’d missed her touch so much. Just for a second, he wondered if she soothed their son like this when he was tired and restless or if she pressed her lips as softly to his downy head as she did to his.

 

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up. The room was quiet. His heart was pounding for some reason and he could feel the sweat dripping from his temples and down his back, even though the room was rather cool. It occurred to him that he was trembling. Surprisingly, Scully was still asleep, curled up like a question mark with the top of her head butting his chest.

 

He’d been dreaming. It started no different from the dreams he’d been having that bled from his fantasies during the day and remained in his subconscious at night. He was with her and they lived a normal life. Sometimes there was a white picket fence. Sometimes there was a dog. Sometimes they lived by the beach. Sometimes it was her apartment. William was always there. He was a baby or he was a teenager pleading for the keys to the car or he was in little league hitting his first home run or he was just learning to walk.

 

This time William was just as he was the night he was born. Small and fragile in his arms, but he held him with confidence, rocking him in his arms as he fell asleep. In an instant, the baby was gone, snatched from his arms by some unseen force. One moment he was holding him, the next his arms were empty. He called out for his son, but he was shouting into a void. He began to run, but he didn’t know where to go and he didn’t know where to look and every way he turned he felt like he was getting farther away from where he needed to be. He screamed for William and he screamed for Scully and then he opened his eyes.

 

Carefully, he slipped off of the bed and into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He didn’t turn on the light for fear of what he might see when he looked in the mirror. When Skinner had told him what had happened to his son, he’d also had to hold onto him to keep him from punching the nearest wall. He was grateful that the news had come from Skinner so he could release his impotent rage before facing her.

 

All those months in isolation, the only thing that kept him sane was the thought of returning to her and to his son. There were times his arms ached from the emptiness. He’d been reading _What to Expect the First Year_ in preparation, wondering what milestones he was missing according to the timeline in the book. He had so many questions that now he was afraid to ask.

 

When did he get his first tooth? How old was he when he rolled over? Does he sleep through the night? Has he said his first word yet? Does he pull himself up on the couch and try to walk? What makes him laugh? Does he have a favorite stuffed animal? Does he know who I am?

 

He went back to the bed and eased down in front of her to watch her sleep. Contrary to office pool opinions, they’d only had a handful of experiences with each other before William; four, to be exact, the last of which probably resulted in his miraculous conception. Being abducted and being dead had made it difficult to remember the finer details of their all too brief intimacy.

 

He scooted a little closer and put his arm over her, only lightly touching her back so as not to wake her. It wasn’t enough though and he brushed her hair back so he could see more of her face. His fingers grazed the back of her neck and he couldn’t stop himself from sliding his hand under her collar to feel her skin. His fingers glided slowly down the speed bumps of her spine.

 

“What’re you doing?” she mumbled, her voice slow and sleepy.

 

“Checking for arctic worms,” he whispered, thumbing her collar down so he could kiss the dip in her collarbone.

 

She chuffed and shrugged her shoulder up to his ear as his breath tickled her neck. The curve of her body straightened out and she pushed one of her feet between his calves. One cool hand worked its way under his shirt and up his back. It warmed him all over and his heart thudded loudly in his chest.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

 

He considered saying nothing, but she would know he was lying. He considered lying, but he owed her more than that. They never pushed each other into admissions, but things were different now. All they had left was each other and they couldn’t hide these things or it would never work.

 

“I had a bad dream,” he said.

 

“What was your dream about?”

 

“William,” he breathed.

 

Her fingers pressed tightly into his back and he rested his forehead against hers. Her eyes were closed, but his were open and he moved his hand out of her collar to touch her cheek. She turned her face a little to kiss his palm and a tear broke away from her lashes and rolled along the outside of his thumb.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

 

“No.” She shook her head and then broke away from him and rolled over, sliding out of bed.

 

“Scully,” he said, moving to his back and then up on his elbows.

 

“It’s okay,” she answered, and he heard her rummaging through the duffel bag. She came around to his side of the bed and touched his chest. “Close your eyes,” she said, and he heard the bedside lamp click on and he screwed his eyes shut tighter against the light.

 

She crawled over him and he squinted, trying to adjust to the brightness. She situated herself against the headboard and rubbed the top of a small photo album in her lap. He stared at her hands and then looked up at her face. Her eyes were red and tired.

 

“We don’t have to do this now,” he said.

 

“It will never be a good time,” she answered. “So it might as well be now.”

 

He nodded and pushed himself up to sit beside her against the headboard. Her fingers were hesitant, toying with the cover of the album without opening it. Finally, she moved the book into his lap and then shivered as she let go. He took her hand before she could pull away and held it against his chest.

 

The first page consisted of two photos. The top one was of William only hours old, struggling to open his eyes. The bottom one was Mulder holding William while sitting on Scully’s couch. He knew she took the picture, but he’d never seen it. In the moment, he was marveling at how the baby’s whole head could fit in the palm of his hand. William was looking up at him with the unfocused grey eyes of a newborn, no clue as to who or what Mulder was, but he’d seemed content.

 

They went through the book slowly, page by page. Her voice was only a notch above a whisper as she narrated. William’s first bath. Maggie holding William in a onesie with ‘I <3 Grandma’ on the front. William on his tummy on a blanket on the floor, looking up at the camera with a wide-eyed expression.

 

“He’d just figured out rolling over,” she said.

 

William with his socked feet in the air, biting a teething ring. William trying pureed carrots for the first time, with orange smears on his cheeks and a disgusted look on his face. A pouty-lipped William, drool on his chin, revealing a single tooth in his lower gums. William with Monica, trying to eat her hair. A very nervous and uptight looking Skinner holding a pensive looking William on his knee.

 

“He grabbed the glasses off his face about five seconds after the photo,” she said.

 

William sleeping. William smiling. William in a pair of overalls in a hat with bunny ears on it. William in a bouncy chair. William and Byers in mid-conversation. William staring at Frohike. Langley holding William’s hand and giving a thumbs up to the camera.

 

“Trying to teach a six-month old how to high five,” she said. “Mostly resulted in getting smacked in the face.”

 

William on his hands and knees, staring at a stuffed bunny two feet away. William in a blue snowsuit, his face turned to the sky and snowflakes in his lashes. William in a baby swing at the park. William sitting up in his crib, looking up at the mobile of stars above his head. William with his head on Scully’s shoulder, her head tilted down so her nose was against his neck and face was obscured by her hair.

 

“It was the night before…” She lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes shut. There were no more pictures.

 

He put his arm around her and she huddled against his side with her head on his chest. He didn’t close the book, instead he flipped backwards to the picture of William on his tummy. It was the clearest of his face out of all of them.

 

His son had large, round blue eyes. He knew they would be blue when he’d held him, but Scully had told him there was no way they’d know what color they’d be for months. Still, when he pictured him, it was with bright blue eyes just like Scully’s. William’s eyes were still even brighter than he imagined, and so inquisitive. When he looked at the camera, he was really _looking_ at the camera. Studying it. Learning it. Investigating it.

 

Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was looking for himself, but all he could see was Scully. William had fair skin, chipmunk cheeks, and a small snub nose that must have been inherited from further back in the gene pool. There was just a hint of red-gold fuzz shading the top of his head. His lips were thin and pressed firmly together, the image of Scully in deep concentration.

 

When he saw it, it took him by surprise. They had the same ears. The same slightly rounded tops and long, straight lobes. They didn’t stick out or show any remarkable characteristics to call attention to themselves, unobtrusive except for maybe being a bit too large for a baby. No matter, he would grow into them just as Mulder had.  

 

And then looked at the tiny hands, pressed into the blanket as William held himself up, and at the dimples where the knuckles should be. The nails were impossibly little, but his fingers were long and thin. Same ears and same hands.  His chest swelled.

 

“If I’d known,” he said.

 

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t. It wasn’t just that he needed protection. I wanted a normal life for him. As much as I wanted to be able to give him that, I couldn’t.”

 

He traced his finger over his son’s head and for a split second, Emily’s face appeared, but quickly morphed back to William. He heard Scully’s voice in his head. _This child was never meant to be._ It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same at all. William was not a lab rat, he was born of love, despite their fears to the contrary. He was meant to be, he just couldn’t be theirs.

 

Tears pricked his eyes and he closed the album and put it to the side. He snapped off the light and pulled Scully down with him so they were lying face to face again. It was still dark, but blue glow in the room indicated the sun would soon be rising. He rubbed her hair between his fingers.

 

“Your hair is so long,” he said.

 

“I haven’t felt like cutting it lately.”

 

“Don’t. I like it.”

 

“I missed you, Mulder. I missed you more than I know how to tell you.”

 

“I feel the same way.”

 

“I was so afraid that you would hate me for what I’ve done.”

 

“I could never hate you.”

 

“But, you would’ve never let me.”

 

“I’m a lot more selfish than you are. And, you’re right. We could never give him the life he deserves.”

 

“I have to believe that someone is.” Her voice broke and she bent her head to tuck her crown under his chin. “He’s someone else’s to love now.”

 

“He’ll always be ours to love,” he whispered, and then fell silent as the tears slipped down his cheeks, not trusting his voice any further.

 

Scully sniffled, taking shaky, stuttered breaths as he rubbed her back.

 

“Being with you now is the only thing that makes this bearable,” she said.

 

He closed his eyes and sighed. There wasn’t much time left before they’d have to get up and start moving again, but for just a few hours he could close his eyes and pretend just like he pretended all these months they’d been apart. He could pretend they weren’t fugitives from justice. He could pretend they were Mr. and Mrs. George Hale. He could pretend he’d never left and they had a home.  He could pretend his beautiful, blue-eyed boy slept just down the hall. He could pretend to listen to the sounds of his son dreaming over the baby monitor. He could pretend it was Saturday and Saturday was park day and the swings were William’s favorite. He could pretend that Scully had yelled after him that it was cold out and make sure William wore a hat. He put the hat on - a stupid looking hat with bunny ears for no apparent reason, but it was the only hat in the diaper bag. He could pretend to hear William laugh at the wind that hit his chipmunk cheeks and he laughed because it was ridiculous that the baby found the wind so funny.

 

He had the rest of his life to face reality, but for tonight, he could pretend.

 

The End

 

 

 


End file.
